Harry Potter, Son of Hogwarts
by marciejackson
Summary: What might have happened, had a certain conversation gone a little differently. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding towards _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_. "Listen Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while another witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hullo," said the boy, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have _you_ got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

(Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone)

He didn't want to look a fool in front of this boy who seemed to know so much more than he did, but he figured looking stupid for asking was better than getting caught out at acting like he knew what he was talking about at all. "What's Quidditch?"

The boy looked quite horrified that anyone could ask such a question. "What do you _mean_, what's Quidditch?" His expression suddenly turned slightly suspicious. "You're not _muggleborn_, are you?" he asked, making Harry wish that he had kept his stupid mouth shut.

"Well, my parents were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean. But they died when I was little, so I've grown up with my relatives, who are muggles. I never knew that I was a wizard 'til last night."

The boy was looking more appalled by the second. "They never told you? They denied you of your entire heritage? Of your _birthright_? You were forced to grow up as a _muggle? _That's got to be the most awful thing I've ever heard!"

It seemed that Harry's fears of being the only one who knew nothing of magic, something that had been bothering him increasingly since the scene in the Leaky Cauldron, were confirmed. "Yeah, I reckon I'll be way behind everyone else because of it… I reckon – I reckon I'll be the worst in the class."

"Don't worry," said the boy comfortingly, while still looking aghast at Harry's revelation. His snotty attitude seemed to have vanished in his sympathy at Harry's plight. "There are lots of other students, muggleborns, you know, who won't know any more than you. And it's not like the rest of us know a whole lot more magic than you – we can't practice any until Hogwarts either. It's mostly knowing about regular things, like Quidditch, that they don't have any clue about. I still can't believe you've never heard of it before," he said, shaking his head.

"What _is_ Quidditch?" Harry asked again, now quite intrigued by the boy's enthusiasm.

"It's our sport. It's played up in the air on broomsticks, and there are three different types of balls, and seven players in four different positions. The rules are a little complicated, but it's the best thing there is. I can't wait until we're allowed to play at school," he finished, looking quite excited at the prospect.

Just then, the door opened again, and in walked the most regal woman Harry had ever seen. She was tall, stately and graceful, and her silver blond hair made Harry almost positive that this was the boy's mother.

"I'll just be at the front, Draco," she said in a cool, soft tone that bespoke confidence and one accustomed to having their wishes obeyed.

"Tell you what," said Draco, turning to Harry, "why don't you come with my mother and me to _Quality Quidditch Supplies_? I'll show you the new broom that's just been released, it's incredible."

"Alright," said Harry, glad to learn more about the wizarding world from someone of his age. "Let me just go ask permission."

Madam Malkin had just finished with his robes, so Harry hopped down from the stool, paid quickly, and was just wondering if he should wait at the shop or go looking for Hagrid, when Hagrid found him.

"Hey Hagrid, I met another boy in the shop and he wants me to go with him to a store to learn about Quidditch. May I?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep fergettin' how little yeh know! That's fine, I'd best be gettin' this package to Dumbledore soon anyway. Do yeh think yeh can finish shoppin' on yer own? All the shops yeh'll need are here on the Alley."

"Uh, sure," said Harry, rather taken aback. He had not expected to be left all alone in magical London, but then again, it wasn't as though he hadn't been shopping on his own before – he got the groceries for the Dursleys all the time. And Hagrid had gone to so much trouble to help him already.

"Good man. Here's yer ticket for the train to school, make sure yeh hang on to that," he said, extracting a long envelope from yet another of his innumerable pockets. "I'll see yeh on the first, Harry."

"Thanks Hagrid," said Harry, and watched the enormous figure of his first friend part the crowds as he strode off down the alley, but then he blinked and Hagrid had gone.

With a sigh, Harry turned back into _Madam Malkin's_ just in time to see Draco and his mother finishing at the till.

"…and he doesn't even know about Quidditch! It's just not right! Please can he come with us?" Draco was saying.

Draco's mother was looking down at him indulgently, and Harry had the feeling that there was not much she would deny her son.

"If he wants to, I don't see why not. See, you're making friends already Draco."

Draco beamed at Harry, obviously overcome with anticipation. "Can you come then?"

Harry grinned back at him. "Yeah, I got permission. I've actually got the whole day to get my things."

"Brilliant! Let's go!" Draco was just bounding towards the door when his mother's voice called him back.

"Draco, where are your manners? You haven't introduced us yet."

Draco blushed lightly and returned to his mother's side at a somewhat more sedate pace.

"Forgive me; I don't know what I was thinking. My name is Draco Malfoy, and allow me to present my mother, Lady Malfoy," he said, holding out his hand.

Harry took it at once and shook it lightly, but was at a bit of a loss as to how to follow up such an elaborate introduction.

"Er… Harry Potter, at your service." There. That sounded formal enough, right?

Harry wasn't so sure, because Draco and Lady Malfoy were both staring at him in shock. Lady Malfoy recovered after the slightest of moments, so quickly in fact, that Harry might not have believed that his identity came as a surprise at all, except for the fact that Draco's mouth was still hanging slightly open.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," she intoned quietly, and held out her hand in a manner that was so different from Draco's that Harry instinctively bowed over it slightly, though he had never greeted someone that way before. Harry felt sure that this was exactly her intention, and was instantly grateful for her consideration. Others, it seemed, were not so discrete.

"Harry Potter? In _our_ shop! Madam Malkin, can you believe it!"

Harry scowled slightly at the shop assistant. He had had quite enough attention drawn to him today already, and he was not in the mood to be gawked over like some animal in the zoo, thank you very much.

Draco, it seemed, caught on to this very quickly, and turned to glare at the woman, shielding Harry behind him in the process. Lady Malfoy, on the other hand, had other ideas and addressed the shopkeeper with authority.

"Madam Malkin, as a gift to welcome Mr. Potter back to our world, I would like the same sets of non-uniform robes and cloaks that I ordered for Draco to be made up to Mr. Potter's measurements, both the casual and the formal ones. They are of similar complexion, and those colours will do nicely," she stated with authority.

Harry tuned beet red. "Really Lady Malfoy, you don't have to," he murmured.

Lady Malfoy acted as though she did not hear him and went over to the cash while the shop assistant flurried about, making up the new sets of robes.

"Don't bother," said Draco, grinning at him. "When mother decides to do something, not even a Hungarian Horntail could stop her – even father knows well enough not to get in her way."

Luckily, Harry did not have enough time to ponder what a Hungarian Horntail was because Madam Malkin was approaching him with two bulging bags.

"It's an honour to meet you Mr. Potter, and I hope you will remember _Madam Malkin's_ next time you are in need of robes of any kind. Inside you will also find my own welcome gift," she finished with a motherly smile.

Harry, whose colour had been returning to his normal pale promptly flushed scarlet again, and stammered his thanks while trying to ignore Draco's snickers of amusement.

Once outside the shop, Harry turned back to Lady Malfoy and began to stutter numerous disjointed sentiments of gratitude until Draco, who seemed to have temporarily overcome his horror at Harry's plight in favour of the hilarity of Harry's embarrassment, elbowed him in the ribs with a little grin and said, "Merlin, Harry, it's almost like you've never received a gift before."

This, of course, was far more accurate than Draco could ever have imagined and caused Harry to pale and look down at his shoes. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at Lady Malfoy with significantly more poise. "Thank you, Lady Malfoy. It's very kind of you."

Lady Malfoy smiled slightly at him for the first time. "Not at all, Mr. Potter. Will you only be accompanying us to _Quality Quidditch Supplies_, or do you have other shopping to complete today?"

"Actually, I'm supposed to be getting all my Hogwarts things today."

"Perhaps you would like to join us then? It would be an honour to help smooth your transition into the wizarding world, and my husband and I would be delighted to answer any questions you might have. Perhaps we could meet with your… guardians and ask them if they are amenable?" She suggested this last bit with some reluctance, Harry thought, but was otherwise very nice. Hagrid was very jovial, but Harry found that he did not offer much helpful information; rather just exclaimed his shock at Harry's ignorance. He found Lady Malfoy to be much smoother. And Draco looked thrilled at the prospect.

"That is very generous of you," Harry said sincerely. He still couldn't believe the lengths to which everyone seemed to be going for him – it was all a little overwhelming. "And we won't have to meet up with my relatives – I'm here on my own."

This seemed to shock Lady Malfoy even more than Harry's identity did. "Do you mean to say that your relatives abandoned you in a strange alley in London in a world that you have just been reintroduced to for the first time in a decade?"

Harry felt uncomfortable discussing the situation. When you put it like that…

"My relatives… are not fond of magic. My aunt and my mother didn't get along very well I don't think, and they actually didn't want me to go to Hogwarts at all."

Here, Draco's shock and outrage returned in full force. "Why would they want to do that?"

"I think they thought that if I never went to Hogwarts then they could avoid dealing with the wizarding world altogether. At least, that's what my uncle said. So I didn't even know about my parents or magic or anything until Hagrid came to get me yesterday."

Lady Malfoy's face turned quite stony at that, but nothing more was said on the subject because they had just reached _Flourish and Blotts_, a bookstore, and outside a man was waiting who was quite clearly Draco's father.

Draco did not forget his manners this time. "Harry, allow me to introduce my father, Lord Malfoy. Father, this is Harry Potter."

Lord Malfoy's gaze turned to Harry so fast that Harry was sure he would have a crick in his neck the next morning. His expression, however, was much less telling as he looked Harry up and down with a faint air of appraisal. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter," he said, holding out his hand.

Harry took it briefly. "And you, sir."

"Mr. Potter was going to accompany us to _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ and for his shopping," said Lady Malfoy while looking her husband straight in the eye. "He is on his own today."

"Really," said Lord Malfoy, turning to gaze intently at Harry once more. "Well, Mr. Potter, it would be an honour to spend the afternoon with you on the alley."

"Likewise, sir," intoned Harry quietly. Harry found this man much more intimidating than his wife. For all his fine clothes and broad shoulders and silver-tipped cane, it was his imposing demeanour and hungry eyes that Harry found most impressive. This was not a man to get on the wrong side of, he decided right away. And looking at Draco's worshipful expression, he decided that such sentiments were best kept locked away.


	2. Chapter 2

So Harry did what Harry did best: he pretended. He followed Draco and his parents into the bookstore and oohed and ahed at the many fascinating book titles, all the while making a mental list of things to come back for. He filled up a basket with all the school required texts and took all of the extra recommendations that Lord Malfoy gave him (including a book of supplemental potions reading, a history of Hogwarts school, an introductory guide to wizarding culture, and _Curses and Counter-Curses_), and said nothing when Draco slipped in _Quidditch Through the Ages._

He listened carefully as the wizard in the luggage store explained to Lord Malfoy the differences between the styles of trunks and how to activate the anti-theft locking charms and how to set the password for the secret compartment. He smiled from under his lashes when Lady Malfoy insisted that he allow her to pick up his cauldron, scales, vials, and telescope from the neighbouring store for him while he selected a rucksack for use between classes.

And all the while he was watching, observing, learning. He determined quickly that Malfoy was a name that to others represented wealth and power, and that staying quietly in the shadows behind them was the best way to remain unnoticed. He found that when dealing with a strange witch or wizard the best technique was to scratch his fringe over his scar, look at his feet and scuff his toes on the ground, maintain his practiced image of a scruffy, unkempt, unremarkable eleven-year-old, but that to best please the Malfoys he should act like Draco: straight-backed, cutting, cool, unflappable, sophisticated, clever, and proud.

He watched how Draco walked and adjusted his typical tripping shuffle to match his long strides. He watched how Draco sneered at everyone who dared to speak to him or get in his way, and he studied Lord Malfoy's raised eyebrow when the man in the apothecary asked whether he wanted the regular or the deluxe set of potions ingredients, and he paid close attention when Lady Malfoy used her soft voice to command the entire staff of the stationary store to make up packages of writing supplies.

And all the time, always, his mind was racing, racing, racing, thinking about how everyone knew who he was here with just a look at his scar or a whisper of his name and what this would mean for him now. He would have to adjust his game plan, that much had been clear since he got the letter, but it would need even greater consideration now that he was a known figure in this world. He could no longer remain unnoticeable, which meant that he would have to be very, very careful about how he was perceived. It would be a big change, bigger than anything he'd ever done before, and he could not falter for a second. But that was okay. Because this was his specialty. If you could discover what everyone expected to see, you could remain invisible, even when you were caught in a spotlight.

And this was what helped him decide when they were in _Eyelop's Owl Emporium _that perhaps he ought to go for the grand snowy owl to match Draco's dark eagle owl instead of the plain brown barn that he would have normally opted for. And of course he did not forget that he was seen as a child as well, so when Draco's expression of haughty superiority slipped when they entered the quidditch shop, he too, allowed his youthful excitement to bubble out and make his eyes sparkle as they whispered together at the counter about the beauty of the Nimbus 2000 in the display case.

It was not until they entered the quiet of _Ollivander's_ wand shop and the spooky old owner had told Harry that his wand of holly and phoenix feather was the brother wand to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that Harry wondered if perhaps he had made a miscalculation. For the hunger had returned to Lord Malfoy's eyes, Lady Malfoy's own eyes were hooded, and even Draco's silver ones had turned to him, calculating.

And suddenly Harry's mind went into overdrive. For he remembered what Hagrid had said, about You-Know-Who rising to power. He'd had followers, he said. And it had sounded like he was winning, before he tried to kill Harry and failed. And Harry did not think that Lord Malfoy was the type to sit back and watch power unfold before him without stepping forward to snatch some up. And he wondered what that meant now, for him. For Harry was the power now, was he not? He was famous. Did that mean that they would try to snatch him up? Or did they think just the opposite - that with Harry out of the way, that power could come back?

Either way, he suddenly had a new perspective on why they had offered so easily to help him out. The question was, though, what Harry was going to do about it. He knew so little about the world he was entering, and that was not a situation that he liked. He needed help. And the Malfoys wanted to be on his good side, apparently. Well, that was okay, for now. And he could think of no one who could offer him a better introduction to the kind of people he would need to know if he wanted to be invisible. Power was having connections, power was knowing your surroundings, power was knowing who to be. And right now, Harry was drawing up short. So he needed to keep on their good side. And, of course, these were not things one brought up in casual conversation. So Harry needed to communicate to the Malfoys that he understood their game and was willing to play it. And so he gave them the best signal he could, in the language they spoke that was until now so unfamiliar to him.

Very slowly and deliberately, he lifted one black eyebrow until it was a perfect slim arch; he curled his lip in a severe sneer; and he spoke in a soft, commanding voice. "And how much will that be?"

Ollivander's eyebrows rose only the tiniest of inches. "Great things, indeed. Seven galleons, Mr. Potter, and four more for a holster and maintenance set, if you wish."

Once he'd paid, Harry turned back to the waiting family of blondes, apprehensive as to their reactions. Had they understood? Apparently they had, for Lord and Lady Malfoy were smiling very faintly in approval, and Draco looked like the cat who had caught the canary, a wide cheshire grin stretching across his face. Harry allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction. Maybe this wizarding world wasn't so bad as all that.


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy Manor was unlike anything that Harry had ever seen. Tall and resplendent, it was dwarfed only by the magnificent grounds within which it resided. Great lawns stretching into the distance framed a long rectangular pond lined by neatly manicured hedges and statues of witches and wizards unknown. A magnificent fountain greeted him and the Malfoys as they 'apparated' (as Lord Malfoy told him teleporting was called by wizards) just inside the front gates to the impressive building, which they had to walk around in order to reach the colossal oak doors that served as an entrance. The doors opened seemingly of their own accord as Lord Malfoy led them up the gravel path past several grazing white birds (peacocks, Harry realized as they got closer, but pearly in colour rather than the usual blue and green). All in all, it was an intimidating sight, and about as comparable to Number Four Privet Drive as a BMW is to a pogo stick.

Nevertheless, he followed his host without a word over the grand marble threshold inside, Lady Malfoy and Draco behind him and equally silent. A small creature of green wrinkled skin and floppy ears dressed in a pillow case adorned with an elaborate M welcomed them into the home and quickly snatched the Malfoys' cloaks as they dropped them to the creature's height and collected their packages, only to vanish with a 'pop', leaving behind a very confused and apprehensive Harry. He had forgotten that on top of everything else, entering the wizarding world meant having to acquaint himself with any number of new races of beings with whom he may be in contact, much as he had been with the goblins at Gringotts bank.

"A house elf, Mr. Potter," Lady Malfoy informed him when she noticed him looking in apparent fascination at spot where the elf had last been visible. "A race of creatures of near-human intelligence that serve the wealthier wizarding families and establishments. The only thing you need remember regarding them is that to give them clothes is to give them freedom, something that neither they nor we wizards have any interest in doing."

Harry nodded quietly and set about admiring the large entrance hall which featured a man-sized fireplace in one wall and sets of doors in the two others. It was through the doors on the left that they walked now, Harry still in his scruffy muggle clothes and feeling particularly out of place in such an opulent setting, though trying his best to suppress it. They passed through an elaborately decorated sitting room and into a dining hall the size of which Harry had never even imagined - the table could have sat fifty people comfortably, though places were set only for the five on the end.

"We are expecting a guest for dinner, Draco's godfather incidentally, but we need not wait for Severus as he is often caught up in his work and loses track of the time," said Lord Malfoy as he held out a chair for his wife while Draco guided Harry to the two opposite hers and the Malfoy lord himself took his seat at the table's head. Harry noticed that the moment he sat down, his goblet filled with water while the two adults' filled with a pale white wine, and while chilled, they did not sweat. He wondered vaguely if it was the glass that was magicked to act in such a way or if this was more of the servants' magic at work, though he felt it would be rather boorish to ask.

"What does he do?" he asked politely of Draco, who seemed eager at the thought of his godfather's arrival.

"He's a professor at Hogwarts," Draco said proudly, "and also the resident potions master. We'll have him for potions this year and every one right up until fifth at least."

Harry remembered the supplementary text for that subject that Lord Malfoy had recommended to him, and thought the gesture a surprisingly kind one. The more Harry studied potions, the better he would do in the class and the better relations he would have with the man whom Draco seemed to hold in such high esteem. He vowed to study that subject the hardest in preparation for September in order to not let Lord Malfoy's hint go to waste.

Shortly, the first course appeared and talk turned to the ministry of magic, about which Harry was intensely curious, especially when it became apparent that Lord Malfoy had significant influence there. Apparently Lord Malfoy was on the Board of Governors of Hogwarts but was also a known advisor to the current minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge. He was just explaining the simplistic method by which the population voted for the minister and the minister then appointed the heads of departments, when a tall man in dark robes with greasy black shoulder-length hair swept into the room, apologizing for his tardiness as he came. He stopped short, however, when he caught sight of Harry's dwarfed form in the high-backed chair that reached well above his head. Harry, not knowing the correct protocol in such a situation, ventured a guess that standing from his seat would be an appropriate show of respect, and did so slowly, his every move tracked by the newcomer.

"Ah," said Lord Malfoy, watching his guest with something akin to glee in his eyes. "Severus, so glad you could make it. As it happens, we are also entertaining a new acquaintance of ours, Harry Potter. Mr. Potter, my good friend Severus Snape."

As Lord Malfoy was speaking, the man and boy had been studying each other intensely, Harry having blanked his face immediately upon recognizing the same clean slate on the Professor's visage. _This_, he recognized, was a man who was one of many faces, one of layer upon layer of deceitful shields and protections, a man who knew the need to save oneself from the world, the primal urge to hide oneself away from the many hurts that plagued the earth, a man who had experienced the overwhelming pain that humanity could inflict upon its fellows and the unstoppable compulsion to avoid such agony further by setting up barriers of falsehood that could be ripped away and leave no damage done to the core truth beneath it. This was a man who _understood_. He understood the Masks. Oh, there were many who _used_ the Masks, who employed them shallowly, carelessly, while never truly _knowing, _the Malfoys among them. But this man, this man _knew_. He knew what it was to wear a Mask for so long that it became a part of you, that you began to believe in the Mask yourself, which, of course, made for the most convincing Masks imaginable. But more than the _knowing, _more than the _understanding_, was the _believing._ And this man believed. Oh, Harry could sense it in his very soul, this man put so much belief in the Masks and their power that they had become him, and he had become them in a way that Harry had not thought to ever see in one other than himself. And it shook him to his core that there were others out there, other Masked Men, who dealt in shadows and words and blood and _life_ like Harry and few others could. But it also filled him with an undeniable _hope, _a _hunger, _an _ache_ to speak with this man, to know him and learn from him and of him and his many, many Masks.

But that would have to wait, for now, for always, always, always there was a Mask to be worn and a part to be played and today's was that of the polite and inquiring mind of the underprivileged project of the power-thirsty Malfoy family. And so he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," and tilted his head in deference to the title, but his smile was wry because it truly _was_ a pleasure, and the title he most respected was not academic, nor as a Master of bubbling cauldrons, but as one of subtleties. And the professor's own smile was tinted with a black amusement that showed that he recognized the irony in Harry's statement and in his making it in the home of those who thought to bear the Masks themselves.


End file.
